


Beige

by nasaplates



Series: CuriousCat Drabbles [8]
Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Depression, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 16:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17964140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaplates/pseuds/nasaplates
Summary: xiuchen + beigeMinseok is good at hiding his depression. Jongdae is good at loving him.





	Beige

**Author's Note:**

> melancholy, meant to be healing but be careful with yourself if you're feeling down <3

It isn’t raining yet but it will be soon. Minseok can tell, by the way the clouds look, the way the air pressure has shifted, by some sense he couldn’t really explain to anyone. But he knows.

He’s been sitting in an armchair by the window for hours. Socked feet on the cushion, arms around his knees. The side of his head probably has an imprint of the chair from the way he’s been resting it, temple to velvet. 

He’s tired. Tired like the sky looks tired. Tired to the bone. 

_Maybe the rain will help_ , he thinks. _Maybe the rain will make me feel less like crying. Maybe the clouds will cry for me, instead._

It’s dramatic, these thoughts, he knows. Mocks himself, tiredly, in his head. Nothing he’d ever say, just stupid little things, like little black birds that perch on his shoulder, whistle their melancholy tune, and flit away again. Mostly his mind is just quiet, and heavy. Buzzing like neon without the bright light. The blood in his veins moves like tar and his heart is exhausted from pumping it. 

He hasn’t been able to feel his fingers, or toes, for a while now. He doesn’t know how long. He hasn’t been able to feel much at all.

Minseok stares out the window, knows the tree outside it is bright with color, knows the flowers are a pretty pale pink. Knows the sky is blue behind the swirling, heavy clouds. Knows, but can’t see it, not really. Everything is just plain. Colorless. Beige.

He gets like this, sometimes. More often than he ever really admits. More often than anyone knows. He doesn’t like to indulge it, if he can help it. Always covering it up with a joke, with playful roughhousing, with asking someone else how they’re doing. With sex, sometimes. Flirting, at the very least. He can always dredge up a smile, a bad joke, somehow. Fakes the colors even when he can’t see them, to the point that, sometimes, he doesn’t feel real. Can’t tell where the vibrant person everyone else sees ends, and his beige heart begins.

It’s stupid, feeling like this. He’s talked to everyone else on their sad days, helped them laugh their way out of it, sometimes helped them cry. Told them of course it was ok, to be sad. Of course he loved them. They’d feel better soon, and until they did, they could always come to him for support, for affection. But telling someone else was always very different to telling himself.

There’s the gentle shuffle of feet on the carpet and Minseok rolls his head to see who it is. 

Jongdae, soft in sweatpants and an old worn t-shirt, carefully watching a steaming mug he’s carrying with two hands. When he’s close enough, he flicks his eyes up to Minseok’s, smiles gently, hands him the mug. Hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, a scattering of pink salt on top. Minseok smiles, barely, but genuine. The only things he can really taste when he feels this way are salty, and sweet.

Jongdae snags a big soft blanket from a nearby couch, stands directly in front of Minseok’s armchair and says, “Scootch.”

Minseok sets the mug of hot cocoa on the side table and they shift, somehow not awkward even though there is absolutely no way they should both be able to fit in the armchair. They’ve had practice, moving together like this. They know their bodies together, almost as well as they know their own apart.

When they’ve settled, Minseok is enveloped, in Jongdae, and in the blanket, not a bit of him left exposed, untouched. Jongdae’s weight is pressed just enough into his chest to ground him, not enough to smother. One of Jongdae’s hands cards gently through the hair at the back of his head. Minseok can feel his fingers again. They’re stroking, slow swirls, over the soft shirt covering Jongdae’s belly.

They breathe together. 

The rain starts, pattering at the window. Jongdae hums something Minseok can’t place, soft, like a lullaby, not loud enough to drown the rain out, just enough to compliment it. 

Minseok snakes a hand out of the blanket to take a drink of the hot cocoa. He lets it warm all the places Jongdae’s body can’t reach. Lets his voice, singing softly now, keep the melancholy birds at bay.

The colors aren’t back yet but they will be soon. Minseok can tell. And he knows that Jongdae will be there when they do.

**Author's Note:**

> <3
> 
> come say hello on twitter @nasaplates  
> or, if you'd rather chat anon, send me a cc: https://curiouscat.me/nasaplates


End file.
